Strange New World
by smithsbabe65
Summary: Heroes/ST2009 Crossover - AU. Pairings Sylar/Claire and Spock/Claire. 300 years of bickering with Sylar makes Claire decide to join Starfleet. Things get more complicated when she catches the eye of a certain Half-Vulcan. Please R
1. Chapter 1

**Strange New World**

**Summary**: The immortal duo now finds themselves living in the 23rd century. And after 300 hundred years of bitter bickering and trying to off each other Claire has decided that she's bored out of her skull with all things Earth, including Sylar.

Our dear Cheerleader wants off this rock in the worst possible way to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and blah, blah, blah…so she enlists in Starfleet in the hopes of putting as many light years between her and her eternal nemesis.

But what happens when Sylar is not quite ready to let her go? And to make matters worse when she inadvertently catches the attention of a certain half-Vulcan commander, Mr. Gray will be soon be catapulted into a contest to win Claire's heart.

It's logic versus psychosis, people. Who will win?

_AU Star Trek 2009/Heroes crossover_

_Written for BlueArcticWolf _

_Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Spock/Claire guest starring Kirk and Uhura_

_Rated T for some strong language and maybe a wee bit of sexual innuendo _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or Heroes. Both universes belong to Paramount and NBC Universal respectively. Please don't sue me- I'm just a crazy fan girl trying to have some fun._

**Chapter One**

llll

"That's it! It's official. You've finally lost your mind. I never thought I'd live to see the day. But I was wrong. You've gone certifiably, unequivocally and entirely off your rocker!"

While Sylar's words clearly express his outrage over my latest decision, I'm unfazed by his apparent indignation. Besides what's done is done. There's no turning back now.

"_I'm_ off my rocker? Are you shitting me? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Really Sylar, have you met yourself? You're the textbook definition of _insanity_!"

I know that what I've just said hit the man below the belt, yet right now I'm so mad I could spit nails. What I am angry about? Perhaps it's the fact that even after all these years, I still _hate_ it when someone tells me what I can or can't do.

Yet in the face of my verbal affront, Sylar allows the insult to fall by the wayside…for now. Though I'm pretty certain he wants to dispense with all the bullshit and address the more pressing issues which have brought him to San Francisco for this impromptu visit to my Castro Street apartment.

This is actually the first time I've laid on eyes on the man in almost 75 years. Its uncanny how he's always seemed to know right where to find me. If I hadn't been privy to the fact that Molly Walker had lived until the ripe old age of 92, I could have sworn he'd ripped her ability right out of her sweet little head. Nevertheless, exactly how this man has always managed to track me down continues to remain a mystery.

llll

The last time we'd seen each other had been in Tulsa, Oklahoma at a seedy motel on the shady side of town. We were lonely, horny and trying so hard to get drunk so I figured that as long as the mescal kept flowing I'd throw old Sylar a bone…or had it been the other way around?

I can't remember. _Or maybe I chose not to_.

Anyway, it had been fun until he had made the fatal mistake of mentioning the fact that it would have been Peter's 204th birthday that night.

All it had taken was just one casual remark to summon up all the hate I still carried around for the man I'd known as Sylar. Needless to say our happy reunion had ended abruptly when I plunged the jagged blade of a Bowie knife deep into his left thigh, severing his femoral artery in the process. I remember not even batting an eyelash as I left him to bleed out on the very bed I'd just screwed him on.

Sounds violent, right? But that's the way it had always between us. After our almost 20 year stint in New York, we'd opted to hook up once or twice every decade or so.

_Funny how we couldn't live together and yet we still haven't learned to live apart. _

Sometimes our rendezvous took place by sheer coincidence, other times by design. The locations varied, fashions came and went, but Sylar and I always remained unvarying. Two immortals cursed to repeat history over and over again. It was the same pattern every time; fighting and fucking until one pissed the other off enough to disappear for a few decades.

_Wash, rinse, repeat…_

llll

"Starfleet, Claire?" his anxious tirade suddenly stirs me from my thoughts. "Are you serious? You can't expect me to _believe_ that you'd actually want to go traipsing across the galaxy to parts unknown? C'mon, you couldn't even stand the almost two hour subway ride from Queens to Manhattan when we lived in New York! Tell me how are _you_ going to survive being stuck on some godforsaken starship for years at a time?"

_Jesus, what whiner, _I fire off the nasty notion from the back of my mind as I toss my long golden hair over my shoulder. Meanwhile my eyes have narrowed into twin emerald slits of loathing as I continue to glare at the tall, imposing apparition that's currently darkening my doorstep.

"Look, Sylar," I haughtily declare, "First of all I'm a big enough girl to make my own decisions. And I've _decided_ to enlist in Starfleet. I report to the Academy tomorrow morning at 0800. End of story. Secondly, where I go 'traipsing' is my own goddamned business, not yours…not anymore."

I hold back an audible gasp as I watch the blood drain from Sylar's already pallid countenance. And a twinge of regret starts to germinate within me the moment I see that familiar flicker of hope extinguish within depths of his eyes.

The ever present specter of his arrogance is gone and surprisingly I'm rather saddened by it. But whatever he's come to say doesn't matter to me anymore and he knows it. It's apparent in the way his shoulders have slumped forward in defeat. Sylar is a man resigned as he gives off the appearance of someone having taken the wind out of his sails.

And despite this, he tries one more time to change my mind, "So that's it then, huh? Off to the final frontier without even a backwards glance? What about us, Claire? Can you honestly tell me that I don't still mean something to you? Please, don't this. I _need_ you."

Although his plea resonates with me somewhat I'm still resolute to go through with my plans. I lower my gaze as a sigh of frustration slips past my lips.

"I'm _tired_, Gabriel," I whisper softly with the full knowledge that using his Christian name will get him to listen to me. I can feel the weight of his stare bore into me as I continue, "I'm sick and tired of this world and its constant reminders of everyone I've lost. Don't you understand? Earth is just one big grave yard to me now and I want off!"

For a minute or two there's only silence as a speechless Sylar processes my sorrowful revelation. He closes his eyes in a futile attempt to hold back the glistening tears.

It's too late, I've already seen them. And while I'm to some extent stunned by this rare occurrence, its manifestation fails to move me. Sylar, sensing my lack of compassion changes tactics again when he lets his infamous temper take center stage.

"Poor little Claire. It's always about you, isn't it? To hell with what I want, right?" he seethes.

I watch dispassionately as blue sparks of electricity start to dance across his fingers in an almost involuntary act of rage.

"What happened to _forever_ Claire?" he rants at the top of his lungs. "You always told me we'd have forever to figure out whatever this is…this _thing_ we have between us! How are we supposed to do that when you're somewhere out there? Tell me, Claire. _TELL ME!_"

As intimidating as he tries to be I know better than most that Sylar's imperious roar is all for show. You see the big bad Boogeyman is no more. He's been declawed for almost three centuries. Ever since Samuel Sullivan helped him tap into his empathy, Sylar's killer instinct has all but vanished. Oh don't get me wrong, he could still cause a world of hurt if he were so inclined. His heart though just wouldn't be in it.

Still…his words cause me to cringe a little, but I stand my ground. Trying my best to remain calm I slowly regulate my breathing as I mentally summon the teachings of Surak, the great philosopher, founder of modern Vulcan society.

His views on a more logical approach to life's tribulations have only recently become a passion of mine. In fact book one of the _Kir'Shara_ specifically states that any conflict, no matter how great, can be resolved when the emotional component is eliminated. Only then can an individual think more clearly and allow logic to dictate the inevitable and correct course of action.

And right now logic is telling me that my argument with Sylar is futile and pointless- he's most definitely overstayed his welcome. So as my small lithe body continues to block him from entering my home, I try to conjure up a way to bid him a not-so-fond goodnight.

"Are you quite finished?" I ask with feigned indifference after his male posturing had died down somewhat.

"Yes," he hisses between clenched teeth, putting extra emphasis on the 'S' like some slithering serpent.

"Good. Now listen up. We had our shot Gabe, but we blew it. We're just no good together; we're too different. Besides even if for some miracle I chose to stay, what would change between us?

Yeah, maybe it'll be great, for what, a week or two? But then what? You can't stand there and deny that we wouldn't be at each other's throats again. Besides weren't you the one that said I should broaden my horizons and explore my options?" My argument, though lacking in eloquence, was still for the most part logically sound.

_Surak would be so proud!_

"Yes, I did say those things…but I what meant at the time was that we should explore those horizons _together_, right here on _terra firma_-not in the far off fringes of outer freakin' space."

That's it, I've heard enough. He's just landed on my last nerve and he's now tap dancing on it.

"Good night, Sylar. It's time for you to go." I announce, with some irritation. But before I could tell the computer to slide the door shut in his face, he suddenly pulls me into his arms to silence my command with a soul stealing kiss.

At first I try to push him off me. But Gabriel can be a persistent son of a bitch, especially when he's going for the gusto. Dang gum it, the man can still lay on a fat juicy one like nobody else. Good Lord in Heaven, what he does with just his mouth, teeth and tongue should be outlawed in at least 10 different star systems within the Federation, perhaps maybe even the Klingon Empire too.

Alarms bells start to go off as a little voice in the back of head tells me this is wrong. It's not logical to be kissing Sylar. I shouldn't allow him to dissuade me from my destiny or let my emotions to get the best of me.

But oh God, when I feel his fingers run through my hair as his teeth start to tug at my bottom lip before his tongue slips inside my waiting mouth...

_Surak and logic be damned!_

I go weak at the knees as I start to return his kisses with equal fervor. And just as I begin to enjoy myself, the bastard brings our lip-lock to a quick and unceremonious end. My eyes fly open only to find the smug expression plastered all over Sylar's face.

"Well, Claire-Bear. That was quite… _revealing_," he drawls out almost obscenely. "You actually think that living and working amongst extra-terrestrials will make you feel less of freak? How sad Claire, that even after all this time you still think so little of yourself and your gift."

Crap! I realize now that I've been tricked. I'd forgotten all about Lydia's ability. He probably got a good read on my insecurities and knowing that now only sets me off again.

"Out Sylar! Get the hell out of my apartment and my life!"

Raising his hands up in surrender, he finally turns to go. "Okay princess, have it your way. Just be careful what you wish for, you just might get it this time." His smirk is still in place as he says this but his eyes are filled with sadness and longing.

"Goodbye Sylar," I faintly whisper as I watch him turn around to start walking down the corridor that leads to the building's exit. Only after he's completely out of my sight do I beckon the computer to do my bidding

"Computer, close and lock door." Not that any security device would keep a man like Sylar out but it still makes me feel a little better to know there is some semblance of protection.

And now that he's gone, I can finally get ready for bed. Soon enough I've slipped into my pajamas and crack open a bottle of Denebian wine. Raising the glass of sparkling blue liquid, I toast to my shiny new future and to what I hope to be a stellar career with Starfleet.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Strange New World**

**Summary**: The immortal duo now finds themselves living in the 23rd century. And after 300 hundred years of bitter bickering and trying to off each other Claire has decided that she's bored out of her skull with all things Earth, including Sylar.

Our dear Cheerleader wants off this rock in the worst possible way to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and blah, blah, blah…so she enlists in Starfleet in the hopes of putting as many light years between her and her eternal nemesis.

But what happens when Sylar is not quite ready to let her go? And to make matters worse when she inadvertently catches the attention of a certain half-Vulcan commander, Mr. Gray will be soon be catapulted into a contest to win Claire's heart.

It's logic versus psychosis, people. Who will win?

_AU Star Trek 2009/Heroes crossover_

_Written for BlueArcticWolf _

_Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Spock/Claire guest starring Kirk and Uhura_

_Rated T for some strong language and maybe a wee bit of sexual innuendo _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or Heroes. Both universes belong to Paramount and NBC Universal respectively. Please don't sue me- I'm just a crazy fan girl trying to have some fun._

A/N: Again this will be told from Claire's POV. In this chapter Claire arrives at Starfleet Academy and makes fast friends with Nyota Uhura. There's some slight mention of Jim Kirk and there's a Spock sighting.

**Chapter Two**

_Starfleet Academy_-the very name of this prestigious institution has always invoked the images of fresh-faced recruits, bright young men and women, outfitted in their smart looking cadet uniforms-all eager and hopeful to reach for the stars. Since its inception in 2161 only the best and the brightest are accepted here to train and learn everything that the known universe has to offer. Ultimately they will gain the necessary skills and knowledge to become full fledged members of the most elite peacekeeping force within the United Federation of Planets.

As I arrive, via shuttlecraft, I get my first glimpse of the intergalactic military institute through an available porthole. Immediately I'm awestruck by the aerial view which illustrates the sheer vastness of the sprawling complex that's nestled in the foothills of Fort Baker, located just across from the Golden Gate Bridge_. _

_Arlington University would be dwarfed by this_ _place… if it was still standing_, I muse as I'm reminded briefly of my ancient _alma mater_. The old grounds of AU have since been demolished decades ago and are presently an extension of Arlington Cemetery where a number of Starfleet's honorable dead from all reaches of the galaxy and beyond, have been laid to rest.

I continue to marvel at the impressive sight of the magnificent glass and steel structures spiraling up into the sky as far as the eye can see. These proud edifices, as remarkable as they are, pale in comparison however to the verdant splendor of the well manicured lawns colorfully adorned by both earthly foliage and extraterrestrial flora. Wistfully I sigh as I recall my mother's own garden. It had been modest in size and scope, but to me no less lovely. If I close my eyes I can still smell the fragrant perfume of her rose bushes, which had been her pride and joy aside from her yappy yet endearing Pomeranian.

Suddenly there's familiar jolt that extricates me from my memories, an indication that the shuttle's landing gear has been engaged. The distinctive hum of the thrusters decreasing in power can now be heard throughout the cabin, as the transport continues its descent toward the waiting landing pad.

Colonies of butterflies start to flutter away at the pit of my stomach as I'm assaulted by a fit of nervousness. _This is it_, I tell myself as I quickly gather up my personal belongings in preparation for a hasty exit from the shuttle once we've landed.

Running a shaky hand through my hair, I reassure myself that the preposterous upswept style is still intact. Meanwhile, my other hand tugs at the short hem of my red cadet's uniform which is eerily similar to my old cheerleading getup. Although my appearance is deemed standard for all female recruits by Starfleet's regulations, it's all very retro if you ask me. Who knew that micro-minis and beehives would make such a comeback?

"You look worried," says a musical voice emanating from the person seated directly across from me.

I glance up to find a strikingly beautiful dark-skinned girl with a pair of warm friendly eyes staring back at me. Her smile, bright and infectious, immediately puts me at ease.

"Yes," I admit returning her grin with one of my own, "I guess am. I've got a case of the first-day jitters."

"Ah, I know the feeling," the girl shrewdly utters. "Thank God that's all behind me," she sighs with relief.

"You're not a first-year, are you?" I suspiciously inquire, suddenly feeling very inadequate in front of this visibly confident recruit, despite my many years on her.

She smiles even wider at my perceptiveness. "Nope, I'm afraid not. I'm just hitching a ride on the shuttle. Actually this'll be my third year at the Academy. Just one more to go before I'm assigned to a starship. I can't wait! Hopefully I'll get to serve under Captain Pike on the new flagship currently under construction."

"Ah, yes…the _Enterprise_. I hear she'll be the fastest ship in the fleet."

"Yes, the fastest _and_ the most technology advanced vessel that Starfleet has ever commissioned." Then in an amicable gesture the girl extends a graceful hand toward me which I promptly take into my own. "By the way, I'm Uhura."

"_Butler_," I respond in kind. It's almost strange to speak that name again-yet its familiarity is a bittersweet reminder of my past. The alias however is a necessary precaution to protect my identity and keep the knowledge of my ability under wraps.

As I shake her hand, a sense of total recall strikes me, which causes my eyebrows to shoot straight up until they almost reach my hairline. The celebrated name is one I recognize straight away. "You wouldn't be related to Commodore Mwenye Uhura, governor of the Earth colony on Rigel VII?"

Uhura smiles sadly. "He was my grandfather," she replies with a hint of pride in her tone.

Releasing her hand, I sympathetically say, "He was true _hero_. I remember the way he defended his people against a possible Klingon invasion. It was quite commendable."

The puzzled look on Uhura's face forces me to realize my slip-up as I feel the warm flush of embarrassment crawl over my cheeks. As expected, red flags of suspicion are raised at full mast when she asks, "You _remember_…? How could you? The incident happened over 60 years ago."

Quickly I try to rectify the slip of my treacherous tongue with a careful yet untruthful response, "What I _meant _to say was I remember _reading_ about what happened when I was in middle school. My history teacher even gave us a test on it."

Apparently my answer seems to satisfy her inquisitiveness…for now. Breathing a sigh of relief, I watch her shoulders relax while the easy smile returns to her lips. However, I make a mental note to be more cautious in the future in order to avoid any pitfalls that might reveal who and what I really am.

"I understand," Uhura assures me. Then she adds, "You'd be hard pressed not to find anyone that didn't learn about Rigel VII in school -especially since it was the Federation's first encounter with the Klingon Empire. Guess that'll teach us to have an outpost so close to the Neutral Zone, right?"

I give her my best reassuring smile as I respond, "Right. Still, your grandfather was a brave man. He singled-handily took out that Bird of Prey when he covertly beamed himself onboard to reverse the polarity of their photon torpedoes. By doing that he transformed their ship into a giant bomb."

"Yeah, that was a ballsy move." Uhura readily agreed. "It's just a shame that he had to give his own life so that others might live, which included my grandmother and father. My dad always told me that my grandfather's sacrifice was the mark of a true and dedicated officer."

"And of a good father…" I whisper, knowing first hand how some parents selflessly put their own lives in peril for the sake of their children. The strong recollection of the man who raised and loved me until the day he died causes my eyes prickle with unshed tears.

Quickly, though, I'm forced to dispel any lingering memories of Noah Bennet when I sense the shuttlecraft touch down.

"So I take it you're here for orientation then?" Uhura curiously questions me.

Chewing on my bottom lip I answer rather fretfully "Yeah, and I only have _ten_ _minutes_ to get to Cochrane Hall_._ And I have _no_ idea where that is yet."

Leaning over she pats my hand with hers. "Well, it just so happens that I have a meeting near there, so I'll be glad to show you the way."

Grinning from ear to ear, I express my gratitude right away, "That would be great! Thank you so much Uhura."

Giving me a little conspiratorial wink she lowers her voice and says, "You're welcome. And please call me Nyota."

"Alright then… but only if you call me Claire."

Nodding once she firmly agrees, "You've got yourself a deal." Then she hastily adds, "Just do me a favor, don't let it get around that you know my first name, okay? There's a sleazy second-year cadet named Jim Kirk that would love nothing more that to get his grubby little hands on that information."

"Let me guess: overzealous horn dog that thinks he's God's gift to women and has made it his mission in life to be a nuisance until he wears you down?"

"Oh my God, you've just described him to a 'T'. Do you know him?" Nyota asked in astonishment.

I try to stifle a girlish laugh as I shake my head. "No. I just know the type."

Lifting a well-arched brow, my fellow cadet and hopefully new-found friend dares to ask, "So I take it you've had some experience with having your own personal stalker?"

A certain tall, dark, ex-serial killer, not to mention immortal, watchmaker comes to mind when I inform her with the utmost sincerity, "Oh, you have _no_ idea."

llll

After bidding Nyota a heartfelt farewell with the promise to meet up later in the mess hall for lunch, I now find myself standing in the imposing shadow of Cochrane Hall. Named for Zefram Cochrane, the man who on April 5, 2063, made Earth's first warp flight and had first contact with the alien race we now know as Vulcans.

I smile as I look back fondly on that day.

llll

Hand in hand, Sylar and I had been standing in Times Square, with thousands other people. With awed silence we watched the news unfold on the gigantic screen of the jumbo-tron as Earth finally discovered that it was not alone the universe.

It had been a time of hope and wonder.

As time had passed, and Earth's alliance with Vulcan grew to eventually solidify when the UFP was founded, so did my curiosity about its people. I found the dichotomy of their culture to be extremely fascinating. On the one hand, Vulcans possess a great capacity to suppress or think past all emotional influence by living lives of rigid emotional self-control through meditative techniques and training of mental discipline.

However, as contact telepaths, they can also tap into another being's thoughts and feelings through the simple act of touching. And if they wish to delve deeper to discern an individual's experiences, memories, knowledge and even their emotions, they perform what is commonly known as a _mind-meld_.

I've always found it ironic that for a race that proclaims to have purged all emotion, Vulcans are still so deeply in touch with the sentiments of others.

Then there's their physiology – so similar to humans with a few minor exceptions - copper based green blood pumped by a heart situated where a human's liver should be and a tolerance for arid environments with high temperatures that would cause the average man to die from heat stroke. Then of course there's the longer than normal life span and almost freakish super strength.

Yet it's their physicality that I find most intriguing. With those slanted eyebrows and devilishly pointed ears it's enough to make anyone take a second look. Most people I've talked to find a Vulcan's appearance jarring, maybe even a bit off-putting. I, on the other hand, think that their puckish features are beautiful.

But for all of my admiration and enthrallment, I've never had the opportunity to meet a Vulcan in person. Oh, I've seen a couple here and there from afar, but never up close and personal.

Gabriel, being a closed-minded, paranoid xenophobic, never did understand my fascination with our new alien allies. "They look like overgrown _elves_ with bad bowl cuts," he told me one afternoon. "And besides they're unfeeling, know-it-alls that look down on humans because of our emotions."

Angered by his prejudiced mind-set, I fired back, "Oh yeah? Well those 'unfeeling know-it-alls', have figured out a way to live peacefully for hundreds of years without hatred, apathy or war! Mankind could take a lesson from them, if you ask me."

"I see you've had your nose buried in those books again. When will you learn, Claire? The Bible… Torah… Qur'an…_Kir'Shara_, whatever you want to call it, it's all a bunch of nonsense! Fairy-tales written by men who wanted to control the feeble-minded masses with promises of a hereafter for good behavior while scaring them into submission with stories of hell-fire and damnation…nothing more."

That had been the final straw…his hateful declaration signaled my cue to leave our Queens apartment, never to return. I remember the last thing I'd said to him before I walked out and slammed the front door, "Screw you, Gabriel! Look me up in a hundred years or so when you've stopped being such a cynical, bigoted _asshole_!"

lllll

Now, with my feet planted firmly in the present, I shed the miscellany of the past like an unwanted scratchy overcoat. Looking straight ahead I start to walk toward the gargantuan doors when the glint of something shiny captures my eye. Turning my head to the right my curious gaze falls upon a bronze statue. Standing tall and proud, the sculpture had been made in the likeness of Zefram Cochrane, no doubt erected to honor his memory and his great contribution to science and space travel.

At its base I can see a plaque. But from where I'm now standing I can hardly make out the commemorative inscription so I move closer to read it. _Ex astris, scientia_ – it says in Latin. Loosely translated it means, "From the stars, knowledge." I smile as I read this because that is _precisely_ what I hope to gain.

Now that my curiosity has been resolutely abated, I glance down at the chronometer on my PADD. _Shit_, I only have a couple of minutes to spare before I'm late to orientation. Turning quickly on the heels of my highly-polished black leather boots, I try to make a mad dash toward the hall entrance.

Meandering blindly I fail to see where I'm going when all at once I collide face first into the solid wall of a male's torso. The force of the impact should have sent a normal person toppling down onto the ground. However in this case, not only did the person remain standing, they also managed to keep me from losing my footing with a steady yet gentle grasp on my forearms.

"Are you alright, cadet?" asks a vaguely familiar voice.

Feeling incredibly stupid and embarrassed, I cast my gaze downward, apologizing profusely for my clumsiness. "I'm so sorry. I'm running late for orientation and I didn't see where I was going…"

Suddenly the warm hands, which had been holding me so tenderly just moments before, abruptly retreat. There is a shift, a change in the air as I sense the stranger's posture become rigid, his demeanor unapproachable.

His tone, devoid of the genuine concern he had previously demonstrated, addresses me now in a formal and clipped tenor, "Very well, cadet. In the future may I strongly suggest that you manage your time more efficiently thus reducing any further incidents of tardiness. Punctuality is one of the most important requirements expected of every recruit. And you are no exception."

It takes me a second or two to register his words. _Wait a darn minute…did I just get insulted?_

Naturally, I'm infuriated. Although, it doesn't take much these days to provoke my ire-you just have to be male, arrogant and a self-righteous prig to get my blood boiling. Wanting nothing more than to confront the S.O.B. that's dared to transgress against me, I shift my eyes upward only to suddenly find the most perplexing spectacle that I've ever seen in all of my long, long years of life.

There standing before me is a man that at first glance could easily pass as Gabriel Gray's long, lost twin brother with one glaring exception…he is undeniably, unequivocally Vulcan.

_TBC__…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Strange New World**

**Summary**: The immortal duo now finds them-selves living in the 23rd century. And after 300 hundred years of bitter bickering and trying to off each other Claire has decided that she's bored out of her skull with all things Earth, including Sylar.

Our dear Cheerleader wants off this rock in the worst possible way to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and blah, blah, blah…so she enlists in Starfleet in the hopes of putting as many light years between her and her eternal nemesis.

But what happens when Sylar is not quite ready to let her go? And to make matters worse when she inadvertently catches the attention of a certain half-Vulcan commander, Mr. Gray will be soon be catapulted into a contest to win Claire's heart.

It's logic versus psychosis, people. Who will win?

_AU Star Trek 2009/Heroes crossover_

_Written for BlueArcticWolf _

_Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Spock/Claire guest starring Kirk and Uhura_

_POV: Claire Bennet_

_Rated T for some strong language and maybe a wee bit of sexual innuendo _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or Heroes. Both universes belong to Paramount and NBC Universal respectively. Please don't sue me- I'm just a crazy fan girl trying to have some fun._

A/N: Thanks to everyone that took the time to review or add this story to their alerts and favorites. I wish, though that I'd get more feedback from you lurkers out there. You know who you are…please let me know how I'm doing. Good or bad it doesn't matter. I'd love to hear from you!

**Chapter Three**

_There standing before me is a man that at first glance could easily pass as Gabriel Gray's long, lost twin brother with one glaring exception…he is undeniably, unequivocally Vulcan. _

Yes, judging from all outward appearances, the aloof creature currently staring me down is indeed a member of the most illustrious group of alien people known to the Federation. And yet…everything about this man is nearly identical to _Sylar_ -from the angular bone-structure of his face, to the curve his prominent nose, even the shape of his mouth…practically _identical_. For Christ's sake, they even share the same eye color, …a warm chocolate brown sprinkled with flecks of gold that seem to glow when the light catches them just right.

But how can this be? His people are an almost homogeneous society, all sharing analogous physical traits which define their race and culture. Yet, inexplicably, there is a trace of _kindness_ in his gaze, however guarded it maybe… an inherent benevolence which is normally lacking in the cold black orbs of the average Vulcanian citizen.

My keen observations lead me to only one logical conclusion:_ his eyes are entirely too human to be considered wholly Vulcan_.

There's no denying those _ears _however…not to mention the dramatically upswept eyebrows, both are distinguishable features that appear so out of place on a visage with which I am _intimately_ acquainted with.

Perplexed, my mind begs to question what my disbelieving eyes perceive.

_Could this be__ Sylar? _Suspicions mount…as my inquisitive gaze continue to marvel at the living breathing anomaly regally standing before me.

_Impossible…it couldn't be__, _I dubiously conclude.

Gabe, thanks to his stolen shape-shifting ability, has been known to alter his appearance from time to time. Although the use of this talent is a rarity since he claims it _hurts_ every time he shifts the molecular structure of his DNA. And knowing him the way I do, one thing's for sure, Gabriel Gray _hates_ pain.

Nevertheless, I've seen him use this power whenever he needed to evade capture, or to simply get my goat.

On the other hand, I also know first hand that his bigotry towards Vulcans runs too deep. Sylar would rather have a sharp object shoved into his sweet spot (where ever that might be) than take on the outer shell of an alien race he wholly despises.

Still…the resemblance _is_ eerily uncanny.

Yet the further I scrutinize, the more aware I become of the _dissimilarities_… the subtle differences that make it possible for me to distinguish one man from the other.

Right off the bat I can tell that the posture is all wrong. Sylar slouches, for one. Even with all that so-called confidence he tries to exude, his shoulders still droop as if he were carrying the weight of world on his lanky frame.

Secondly, he never quite knows what to do with his hands. Unless his fingers are tinkering around with the delicate components of a timepiece or buried knuckle-deep inside some poor slob's skull, Gabriel's hands have a tendency to fidget.

And when he speaks, he emphasizes his words with animated gesticulations. I can't say that I blame him on that last one. We both communicate with the same foible due to my hot-blooded Italian linage and his fiery Irish heritage.

This man's hands, however, are tucked neatly behind his back all while maintaining the most ridged military pose I've ever seen. With his wide shoulders stiffly pulled back he stands tall and self-assured- the very epitome of a Starfleet officer. And I can't help noticing that although his build is slender, like Sylar's, the Vulcan fills out the cut of his grayish uniform quite nicely. Yet it's his innate stillness which has captured and now holds my attention. On the exterior he gives the impression of being unflappable and incorruptible- no doubt the end result of years of practicing the _Surakian_ disciplines of self control.

Appearances, however, can be deceiving… for no matter how poised and dignified he seems to be, there's an underlying sense of readiness… _and_ there's more than a hint of tightly reined in aggression…all of which are very reminiscent of a king cobra when poised to strike.

Moreover something tells me that if provoked, Vulcan or not, he would respond, confront and then ultimately eradicate the source of the provocation in the most expeditious and efficient manner possible.

For this very reason alone I find my attraction to him to be immediate and absolute.

And suddenly the idea of him loosing his emotional restraint, for even an infinitesimal nanosecond, turns me on more than I ever thought possible.

He is certainly a contradiction in terms and I find myself wanting to know more about him.

llll

"Cadet, have you listened to a word I've said?" the coldness of his voice snaps me back to full attention.

"Um, I'm sorry sir…as you were saying?" I sheepishly respond.

With a slight elevation of his left eyebrow (which I hope hints at mild amusement or perhaps even curiosity) the Vulcan flatly states, "I am not in the habit of repeating myself. However, judging from your preoccupied deportment, you were no doubt indulging in the practice of what you humans call "daydreaming"

"But I wasn't-". My objections, no matter how vehement, die a quick death when they are summarily mowed down by the Vulcan's brisk vocal counterattack.

"Once again, you have demonstrated a characteristic flaw that is most unbecoming of a new recruit. Inattention, for even a fraction of a second, could mean the difference between life and death in the depths of space, Cadet. Please see to it that you refrain from such behavior in the future, or you will _never_ see the inside of starship."

Well…that did it. My mind concludes that this guy, Vulcan or not, is an even _bigger_ prick than Sylar ever was. And whatever magnetism I was feeling toward him has just evaporated into thin air.

Oblivious to my thoughts, he continues to address me with an air of superiority deliberately intended to remind me of my lowly station.

"Now, if you will please respond to my original query, I will dismiss you since orientation is already in progress. And if my calculations are correct, you are 5.3 minutes behind schedule."

_Bastard!_ He knows full well that I don't remember what he asked me. I want nothing more that to tell this asshole (and the high horse he rode in on) to go to straight hell. However, the command stripes on his uniform prevent me from doing so. Like it or not he is a high ranking officer, a commander to be specific. And that makes him my superior.

Nonetheless, frustration threatens to get the better of me as I fight the urge to grit my teeth. Quickly, I try to compose my features into an unemotional mask as I steel myself against further humiliation.

"I'm sorry sir…but what was the question?" I dare to ask while trying desperately to keep the uneasy tremor out of my voice.

"I inquired as to your identity, Cadet…what is your name?" If I didn't know better I could almost swear there's a twinge of irritation in his tone.

"My name…?" I reiterate like some demented parrot. Meanwhile he's leveled his eyes at me. Almost instantly I find his probing gaze to be far too intense for my tastes.

All at once I feel naked... exposed. Somehow I can't help squirming under the weight of his intrusive analysis. And I'm starting to greatly resent the fact that the Vulcan studies me with the same scientific regard he would an alien micro-organism under a microscope.

Unexpectedly there's a great sense that the Vulcan commander is trying to flush the _real_ me out of my carefully constructed hiding place with just a glance. Logic tells me, however, that the probability of him discovering my true identity is highly unlikely.

Acutely aware of Vulcan telepathy, I'm especially wary of this stranger's touch reminding myself to avoid it at all costs. Without the physical contact required to establish a proper mind link, my innermost secrets will remain safe…I hope.

Wanting nothing more than to get on with the rest of my day, I take a deep breath as I firmly answer, "Butler, sir. Cadet Claire Butler."

"Very well, Cadet Butler, you are dismissed. I will expect you tomorrow at 0900," he announced rather smoothly.

Knitting my brow in confusion I ask for clarification, "Excuse me, sir…?"

Although his pallid face betrays no emotion, the amusement in his eyes is quite evident. And it becomes painfully apparent that he's enjoying my perplexed discomfort.

"Your name appears on my student roster this semester…for _Vulcanian Philosophy_," he elucidates with the faintest of smiles which quickly retreats from his lips, leaving no trace evidence that it had ever occurred. Then he continues to say, "I must say that to some extent I'm puzzled. Why did you sign up for the _advanced_ course?"

Once again, I've been slighted as my intelligence is called into question. It doesn't matter though since my mouth has gone as dry as a desert gulch. Verbal offenses aside, I'm struck by the amazing realization of whom I've been conversing with this entire time. "Oh my God…you're Commander Spock."

With a curt nod, he coolly responds, "You are correct, Cadet. And now that I have made your acquaintance you are now 11.4 minutes late to orientation."

Again, I'm incensed by his casual indifference. After all, it's partly his fault that I'm presently missing my own introduction to Starfleet. Unperturbed by the incredulous expression across my face, he carries on as if nothing is amiss, "May I strongly suggest that you make every effort tomorrow to be punctual to my class. Otherwise, you will find yourself locked out. Good day, Cadet Butler."

And on that harsh note, he briskly turns to take his leave of me. At this point I'm infuriated- no scratch that. I'm beyond infuriated…I am totally PISSED!

_Advanced course indeed- I'll show that green-blooded son-of-a-bitch_, my thoughts ring out as my short boot-clad legs stomp their way toward the auditorium doors. _ I don't give an Andorian muskrat's ass if he's the son of the Vulcan Ambassador…he's going down!_

Yet I beg to question how a man can be so _infuriating_ and yet completely alluring all at the same time. God, I haven't felt this conflicted since…since…_Sylar_.

_TBC…_

llll

A/N: I know this chapter was a bit short. I'm currently writing chapter nine of "Death Becomes Her". But I promise to write an extra long one next time. I want to bring in the rest of the gang so that they can interact with our Texas cheerleader. As for Sylar, don't worry he'll show up soon enough. And he'll be none too happy about Claire's growing fascination with Spock.

Speaking of Spock, he did come across as a bit of dick, didn't he? But Claire will get her revenge when she makes an ass out of him in the next chapter.

Thanks again to all of my wonderful readers for giving this story some love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Strange New World**

**Summary**: The immortal duo now finds them-selves living in the 23rd century. And after 300 hundred years of bitter bickering and trying to off each other Claire has decided that she'sbored out of her skull with all things Earth, including Sylar.

Our dear Cheerleader wants off this rock in the worst possible way to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and blah, blah, blah…so she enlists in Starfleet in the hopes of putting as many light years between her and her eternal nemesis.

But what happens when Sylar is not quite ready to let her go? And to make matters worse when she inadvertently catches the attention of a certain half-Vulcan commander, Mr. Gray will be soon be catapulted into a contest to win Claire's heart.

It's logic versus psychosis, people. Who will win?

_AU Star Trek 2009/Heroes crossover_

_Written for BlueArcticWolf _

_Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Spock/Claire guest starring Kirk and Uhura_

_POV: Claire Bennet_

_Rated T for some strong language and maybe a wee bit of sexual innuendo _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or Heroes. Both universes belong to Paramount and NBC Universal respectively. Please don't sue me- I'm just a crazy fan girl trying to have some fun._

A/N: Thanks to everyone that took the time to review or add this story to their alerts and favorites. I wish, though that I'd get more feedback from you lurkers out there. You know who you are…please let me know how I'm doing. Good or bad it doesn't matter. I'd love to hear from you!

Okay, I know I promised in the last chapter that there would be a Claire/Spock showdown. Don't worry that's still on the menu. _But_…I thought that it would fun to have Claire make the acquaintance of a certain gentleman doctor and his lothario buddy first. Enjoy!

**Chapter Four**

Despite my late arrival to orientation, I manage to avoid the judgmental stares from Admiral Komack and the rest of the ranking members of Starfleet Command by discretely slipping into the first empty seat I find. Mercifully it's loftily situated in the nosebleed section of the hall, away from prying eyes.

From the looks of things, I didn't miss much (thank God). The Admiral, it seems, is still busy with the introductions of upper stratum that comprises Starfleet's faculty and administrative staff.

Knowing that I'll be stuck here for at least the next hour or two, I start to wriggle my butt a little in a vain attempt to find the most comfortable sitting position possible. However I'm nearly jolted out of my chair when the person sitting directly to my right leans over to whisper gruffly in my ear, "Don't fret my dear…my friend and I got here about five minutes before you did."

Shock causes me to pull back only to find myself staring into a pair of the kindest and most dazzling blue eyes I've seen since I buried my dad over 270 years ago. Perhaps it's nostalgia or the long forgotten sensation of familial connection-whatever it is, I discover that those amazing cerulean orbs have the ability to transport me back to a time and place where nothing could harm me because I was still Daddy's little girl. Yet in spite of the shadow of melancholy threatening to overwhelm my senses - I'm immediately put at ease by a well-meaning smirk which I quickly reciprocate.

Peering past the friendly stranger's benign smile, I can just make out the slight grooves of the laugh lines which are just starting to show on his still youthful face. My continued appraisal determines though that there are still no grays poking out from the lustrous dark hair which has been neatly parted to one side. The deep rich russet colored locks are a perfect contrast to the pale backdrop of his milky white skin and the brilliance of his sapphire gaze.

This prompts me to make an educated guess about his age- he's got to be at least a few years older than most of the recruits presently seated in the auditorium. And yet despite this fact I find him to be very attractive in a rugged sort of way. Besides, when you get to be _my_ age, you learn to appreciate the distinguished appearance of a few lines and wrinkles -especially since I'll never have them myself.

And as I continue to ponder over the virtues of physical maturity, I watch as he extends his hand out with a flourish to take mine within its gentle grip. Next, in what I can only describe as a gentlemanly manner, he introduces himself, "Why, here I am whisperin' in your ear and I have yet to make your acquaintance. Where are my manners? I'm Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, at your service. And you are my dear…?"

His tone, I quickly realize, is deceptively abrasive. And to the untrained ear, it's no doubt meant to ward off cretins and malcontents alike. However, his words are laced with the most delightful homegrown accent I've heard on this side of the Mason Dixie, which I, as a fellow Southerner, find utterly charming.

Feeling generous, I bestow the youthful doctor with a winning smile as I reply in my best Texas twang, "My name is Claire, Claire Butler. It's nice to meet you Dr. McCoy. If I may be so bold, you wouldn't happen to hail from _Mississippi_ now would you?"

My question immediately causes him to grin broadly. He's obviously impressed by my correct assessment. "Why, Miss Butler you do have a good ear. Ever thought about going into linguistics?"

I laugh at his suggestion as I inform him of my field of study, "Actually you're not that far off. I'm majoring in _xeno-anthropology_, which will allow me to study and observe a vast variety of extraterrestrial societies and cultures. Of course I'll have to acquire _some_ language skills along the way since I can't always rely on a universal translator."

McCoy readily agrees with a slow nod, "I wouldn't put too much trust in those mechanized contraptions anyhow. No tellin' if they're getting the gist of what some alien might be tryin' to say. One misunderstood word or phrase and you might find yourself in the middle of an interplanetary war."

"Now we wouldn't want that, now would we?" says the overly confident and smarmy voice of the person seated next to the chivalrous physician. Glancing over I see the almost cherubic face of the very man Uhura had warned me about. At first glance you'd swear you can almost see a halo floating above that sandy blonde head of his- deceptively he's the very picture of innocence.

But I've been forewarned and forearmed, thanks in part to Nyota's wise counsel. And I'm fully aware that a _devil_ has just slithered into our midst. I can immediately tell that despite his seemingly wholesome, farm-boy countenance, his appeal only goes skin deep. Those mischievous hazel-green eyes and leacherous expression tell a much different story of the countless broken hearts he's left strewn about.

Yep, this asshole has probably coasted through life on nothing more than his good looks and _aw shucks_ charisma. Thankfully, I'm immune to the likes of James Tiberius Kirk. After being with the biggest egomaniac in the Milky Way, I've kind of developed a sixth sense for detecting morons like Kirk within a 50 mile radius- it's almost like _gay-dar_ but it only works on douche bags.

Leaning over his put off companion, the younger man makes every effort to get my attention by trying to ensnare me within his gaze. "Sorry about my friend here, he's somehow forgotten about things like _etiquette_. I'll forgive him though due to his oh so recent _divorce_. And since the good doctor didn't have the presence of mind to introduce me, I guess I'll have to do the honors. I'm James T. Kirk but you can call me _Jim_."

_Does this man's ego know no bounds? Time to knock him down a peg or two,_ I think to myself.

Yet before I can hatch a plan of annihilation he continues to prattle on like he doesn't have a care in the world. "Now allow _me_ to return the favor. I'm a pretty good judge of character and can usually tell _exactly_ where people are from. You, _darlin_', strike me as a spitfire despite your womanly charms. If I'm not mistaken, you were born and raised in Texas, the Big D to be precise."

I can't help groaning inwardly when his lewd gaze takes an overt swipe at my ample chest the moment he says "Big D".

What is it with the men of this century? With all the technological advancements humankind has made over the years you'd think that the males of the species would have finally evolved beyond the point of drooling over _T and A_ or laughing at fart jokes.

My face sets itself into my trademark Bennet _don't fuck with me_ expression as I deploy my formidable verbal arsenal toward my unsuspecting target. Leaning over the now hapless McCoy I look Kirk squarely in the eye and say, "First of all, Cadet Kirk, my eyes are _nowhere_ near my bosom. So I'd greatly appreciate it if you wouldn't ogle me like some _Zaldanian _slave girl.

Secondly, while you've may have gotten the state right, I wasn't born there. My parents moved to Odessa shortly after they adopted me. My dad had been relocated there for work reasons.

And last but certainly not least- I'm not your _darlin', honey, babe _or_ sweetie_. Nor will I answer to _toots_, _sugar tits_ or any other ridiculous term of endearment that your _puny_ brain might think of. Which by the way probably matches the size of the shriveled up organ currently residing in your pants? I don't doubt it." As his eyes widen and face blanches I revel tremendously in his discomfort.

_Good, serves him right!_

Then with a triumphant grin I bring my little exposition to a close, "So here's how it's gonna go – from now on you'll address me by my proper name and rank. Otherwise I can't guarantee the continued wellbeing of Mr. Happy if the heel of my boot would to – oh, I don't know- come in contact with your _testicles_? Now we wouldn't want _that_, now would we?" My last sentence is a direct and mocking quote of his first words to me.

"No, we wouldn't," he mumbles dejectedly as he turns his gaze downward to avoid my victorious glare. I watch with the utmost satisfaction as Kirk makes a hasty retreat back into the confines of his seat. Undoubtedly he's now praying for the velour covered cushions to swallow him whole, thus saving him from further humiliation.

McCoy at this point is beaming from ear to ear, clearly amused by his friend being trounced by little ol' me. As I settle back into my own chair I look up into his eyes to find a fatherly twinkle of approval gleaming brightly. "Well, Cadet Butler. It's not everyday that I get to watch the Great Jim Kirk get his ass handed back to him. This calls for a celebration! Would you mind accompanying this old country doctor to the mess hall so I can thank you properly for this morning's rousing exchange?"

Smiling back at him I respond most enthusiastically, "Well since you asked so nicely…I would _love_ to. I'm supposed to meet a friend for lunch though. I hope you don't mind if she joins us?"

"Not at all- if she's anything like you then she's most welcome."

Casting a steely glance at Kirk (who is still licking his wounds) I ask McCoy, "Will _he_ have to come?"

McCoy lightly pats my hand in a paternal gesture of reassurance, "Well, Miss Butler, even _letches_ have to eat. Don't worry I'll make sure he's on his _best_ behavior."

lllll

"Uhura," I happily call out as soon as I see the exotic dark-skinned girl from across the overly crowed mess hall. She's currently standing in a long line patiently waiting her turn to use one of the many food replicators embedded into the shiny stainless steel walls of the enormous refectory.

As she waves me over I carefully try to navigate through the treacherous waters of numerous tables chairs replete with hungry and energetic recruits with the pragmatic Dr. McCoy and the obnoxious Kirk in tow. The latter of course, feeling that perhaps it's his god given right, flits about the hall like some overly amorous honeybee landing every so often at some random table to chat up the prettier of cadets.

Thankfully it's McCoy that takes the situation in hand, quite literally, when he clamps down on his buddy's shoulder to steer him away from a blushing gaggle of girls.

"Aw, c'mon Bones- can't you let me have any fun?"

"Not when you're trying to regale those poor unsuspecting beauties with your tales of the _old country_. Did you happen to mention that phrase means _Iowa_ to you?"

As I continue to cut a path through the throng of students I can't help sniggering a little over that last comment. "Iowa, eh?" I admonish Kirk while lifting a curious eyebrow in his direction. "What's corn-fed farm boy like you doing at Starfleet Academy? I'll bet this is the first time you've stepped foot in the big city. All the bright lights must be scary for someone that's never traveled outside – what was it again- _Cow Patty, Iowa?"_

That little jibe costs me dearly when I feel Kirk sidle up next to me. And when he casually rests his arm across my shoulders I practically cringe at the contact. If we weren't just seconds away from meeting with Nyota I'd make good on my threat by introducing the heel of my boot to his vulnerable crotch.

From the corner of my eye I perceive a cock-sure smile, as he begins to sweetly drawl in my ear, "First of all, _Cadet Butler_" I scoff when I hear my name sardonically roll off his tongue. "I'm _allergic_ to corn, so let's get that assumption off the table right away.

Secondly, I was actually born in deep space. So not only have I been across state lines before, I've been _off planet_ too. Can you say the same? I guess not.

And third, I was raised in _Riverside_, Iowa. It's a nice town, with its fair share of bright lights _and_ indoor plumbing. And if _you're_ nice I'll take you back there one day and give you the grand tour."

Dr. McCoy, always the voice of reason, scolds us both, "All right, _children_, play time's over. Quit your squabbling 'cause I'm starved."

lllll

A few moments later, after we've procured our respective lunches, our little group has miraculously found table to sit at. Thankfully, McCoy had the presence of mind to ensure that Jim Kirk planted his sorry butt in the chair next to him, blessedly leaving Nyota and me to sit together across the table from our male companions.

Naturally I knew that Kirk and Uhura had previously met. When she had warned me earlier about Jim's womanizing and party animal ways Nyota also mentioned that Kirk had ended up in a bar fight with her fellow cadets on the night in question. So there really was no need to make her suffer through another introduction to that _jerk_.

McCoy, however, had been a different matter and I couldn't wait for her to make his acquaintance. Just as I hoped she had been charmed by his old-fashioned gallantry and he turn had been enchanted by her Nubian beauty and witty repartee- at Kirk's expense of course.

Presently I find myself with no appetite as I mindlessly pick at the synthetic meat substitute in my so-called "chicken" Cesar salad.

"What's wrong, Claire? Not hungry?" asked a concerned Nyota.

"No it's not that. I guess I'm just worried about tomorrow- especially my first class of the morning."

"Oh, why's that Claire-Bear?" McCoy chimes in with a well-meaning smile. However, when I hear my old nickname uttered for the first time in almost three centuries I can't help tearing up. He sounded so much like my dad for a moment

Within seconds the doctor's right hand drops his eating utensil so he can lay it upon my free one. "I'm sorry. Did I say something to offend you?"

Through my tears I try to smile in an attempt to restore his confidence that my honor has not been disparaged in any way.

Shaking my head from side to side I quickly try to alleviate any misunderstandings, "No, no please don't think that, Dr. McCoy…"

"Leonard, please…" he insists.

I grin even wider, accepting this man's comfort and friendship, "Okay, _Leonard_. It's just that my father used to call me that- you know- 'Claire-Bear'. And the way you said it _sounded_ so much like him." I try to fight back a new torrent of tears as I quietly say, "I guess I still miss him very much."

Both Nyota and Leonard smile sympathetically at me as Kirk looks on with a grave expression on his face. He surprises everyone seated when he softly says, "He must have meant the world you. I guess I know how you feel…heck I never even met my dad… he died on the day I was born actually. And yet I still want to make him proud of me. I guess that answers your question about why someone like me joined Starfleet."

Just then I lift my gaze to meet Kirk's head on. And in that brief span of time an understanding passes between us and perhaps even a newfound respect. We may never be the best of friends. But we both know where the other is coming from. And that has to count for something especially if we're going to serve side by side as shipmates one day.

The spell is broken however by McCoy who is still trying his best to put some cheer back into the situation. "Claire, if it makes you that uncomfortable, I won't call you that again. It just came naturally to me. Please believe me I didn't mean any harm by it."

Dabbing my eyes dry with a recycled paper napkin I put his fears to rest, "Look, I don't want you to feel bad about it. You couldn't have known. It's okay. As a matter of fact you can call me that whenever you like just as long as it's not in front of a superior officer or that sourpuss, Commander Spock."

"Commander Spock?" Nyota asks with a gasp. "So I take you it you've met the head of the _Vulcan Studies Department_?"

"Met him? More like ran right smack into him. And that's what has me worried."

"Why, pray tell? I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him myself, but he seems like such an even-tempered fellow," McCoy curiously inquires.

"Does the term 'stick-in-the-mud' mean anything to you? Look, I know that Vulcans by their very nature don't wear their hearts on their sleeves or anything like that. But _jeeze-louise_, that guy must have flunked out of charm school or something. He's got the manners of a _Foo'kari_ prickly eel!"

And as if on cue said _Foo'kari _prickly eel makes an unexpected and jarring appearance next to our table, cool as a cucumber-_an evil cucumber_. And right now the pointed ears, that at one time I found so attractive, don't help in this awkward situation. Moreover his creepy resemblance to Sylar doesn't either. Add to that those slanted eyebrows and he looks like Mephistopheles come to life.

_Just fucking great! Why can't I ever learn to keep my trap shut? Here it comes…open mouth insert foot._

But instead of reprimanding me for my quasi-slanderous claims, he addresses my friend instead. "Cadet Uhura, when you've finished with your midday meal, please be sure to stop by my office. I would like to review the curriculum for the new semester before classes start tomorrow."

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach as I watch Nyota demurely dip her head down to avoid Mr. High and Mighty's cold glare. "Yes, sir. I'll remember to that."

"Very well, I shall expect to you see at 1400 this afternoon." I finally allow myself to expel the breath I'd been holding, thanking the gods that he didn't notice me as he turns to briskly walk away from our table.

However, the Fates are cruel bitches that have it out for me. They always have.

Time seems to slow its progression as my bleary eyes watch him gracefully pivot back around to cast an arctic glower in my direction.

"Cadet Butler. It has come to my attention that you are majoring in xeno-anthropology. Furthermore since you seem to have taken such a keen interest in _Foo'kari_ society, particularly their zoology, I expect to see a 200 page essay on the spawning cycle of the _prickly eel _on my desk no later than 0800 tomorrow. Good day cadet."

And with that final admonition he finally takes his leave.

My three lunch companions are rendered speechless. And as I feel their empathetic eyes upon me I can only sit in my chair raging as I think of all the terrible ways I could kill that Vulcan _bastard_. My thoughts right now are so dark, so primitive they would make even Sylar blush.

"Claire…" Nyota begins as gently as she can. "Don't worry, as soon as I meet with the commander, I'll put in a good word for you. After all I am his new teacher's assistant."

"And Jim and I will help you with your essay," McCoy kindly offers as he elbows his friend in the ribs to rouse him from the shocked trance he's seem to put himself in.

Nodding slowly, Kirk responds glumly, "Yeah, yeah, we'll help."

I'm warmed by the immediate camaraderie I feel towards my new friends. But just as I start to feel lucky to have such good people in my life, I catch a surprising glimpse of something … or rather _someone _just to the right of Jim's shoulder_. _My eyes must be playing tricks on me, so I blink them in rapid succession in an attempt to dispel the erroneous vision leaning casually against a metal beam wearing a freshly pressed cadet's uniform.

Except no matter how many times I close my eyes, when I open them, the recognizable hallucination is still there. Only now, there's a familiar crooked smile plastered across its boyish face.

But that's impossible! It can't be _him. _Especially since this person fucking _died _in my arms, as an old man, almost 300 years ago.

"Claire, honey…are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

_Ha, if she only knew!_

However, I barely register Nyota's words of concern as I continue to stare disbelieving into the smiling visage of my long dead uncle: _Peter Petrelli_.

This can only mean one thing: Sylar has somehow managed to sneak his way onto the grounds of Starfleet Academy using my uncle's appearance to do so.

_TBC…_

lllll

A/N: I know, I know, I'm an evil puppy for stopping at this point. But I did promise that Sylar would make an appearance. And he has, just in the guise of Peter. Don't worry, he'll drop his disguise soon enough.

In the next chapter Claire will continue to be her feisty self while using logic to make Spock look like an idiot in front of the class. This will prompt the uptight commander to ask our cheerleader to stay after class for a good "talking to". Will sparks fly or will a certain shape-shifting watchmaker spoil the fun?

Also I wanted to mention that I did have fun writing Kirk and McCoy. Since I'm an old school Trekker I wanted to blend elements of De Forrest Kelley with Karl Urban's portrayal of the character. I did the same with Shatner and Pine for Kirk. I hope I did good. Please let me know by clicking the little button that says "review".


	5. Chapter 5

**Strange New World**

**Summary**: The immortal duo now finds them-selves living in the 23rd century. And after 300 hundred years of bitter bickering and trying to off each other Claire has decided that she's bored out of her skull with all things Earth, including Sylar.

Our dear Cheerleader wants off this rock in the worst possible way to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and blah, blah, blah…so she enlists in Starfleet in the hopes of putting as many light years between her and her eternal nemesis.

But what happens when Sylar is not quite ready to let her go? And to make matters worse when she inadvertently catches the attention of a certain half-Vulcan commander, Mr. Gray will be soon be catapulted into a contest to win Claire's heart.

It's logic versus psychosis, people. Who will win?

_AU Star Trek 2009/Heroes crossover_

_Written for BlueArcticWolf _

_Pairings: Sylar/Claire, Spock/Claire guest starring Kirk and Uhura_

_Rated T for some strong language and maybe a wee bit of sexual innuendo _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or Heroes. Both universes belong to Paramount and NBC Universal respectively. Please don't sue me- I'm just a crazy fan girl trying to have some fun._

**Chapter Five**

"Claire?" Uhura again tries to gain my attention. Unfortunately for her, my focus is currently sidetracked at the moment. It seems right now that I only have eyes for the smirking 300 plus year-old shape shifter that's about to meet his long overdue end just as soon as I can wrap my eager little hands around his scrawny neck.

_Stupid __Gabriel! _

I should've known that he'd try to find some way to ruin my first day at the Academy.

Well, he's got another thing coming if he thinks he could just casually stroll onto Starfleet's grounds, flaunting his disguise as my dearly departed uncle without me saying a word about his shenanigans.

Fueled by the overwhelming desire to give him a piece of my mind, I hastily slide my chair back and then leap to my feet. As I snatch up my PADD and other personal belongings, I try my best to keep the agitation out of my hands. Yet, when I glance over at my bewildered lunch companions to bid them a hurried farewell, the sage and wise twinkle in Dr. McCoy's blue eyes tells me he's picked up on my anxiousness.

Ever the southern gentleman, the learned physician rises from his seat as well while he gallantly asks, "Is there something wrong, my dear?"

Shaking my head, I plaster on what I hope is a reassuring smile on my face, as I try to dissuade further inquiry into my personal affairs with a carefully crafted lie. "No, not all…it's just that I remembered that my luggage is being delivered to my dorm room in about an hour. And I want to make sure I'm there so I can account for everything. God forbid if they should misplace my trunk full of shoes!"

Upon hearing the justification for my abrupt departure, Kirk (who's still seated) starts to chuckle as he winks knowingly at the other male in our group. "What is it about footwear that fascinates the fairer sex, Bones?"

_Bones? _What kind of nickname is that? If you ask me, it sounds like the title of an old TV show I use to watch with Gabriel and Peter way back at the beginning of the second half of the first decade of the 21st Century. I make a quick mental note to ask Leonard about the epithet later.

Meanwhile "Bones", keeping his dubious gaze on me, looks unconvinced by my thinly-veiled explanation. Unlike Kirk, he's not easily swayed by my story, no matter how beguiling I try to make it seem. Holding my breath, I pray that he'll just let the matter drop so I can go and throttle Gabriel before he can slither away from me.

Much to my relief, a few seconds later the good doctor concedes, withdrawing his suspicions…for now.

With a wry little smile he bitterly responds to Jim Kirk's query, "Damned if I know, Jim. My ex-wife, Joanna had _two_ closets filled with those things and in the divorce settlement she got mine as well!"

"Now, now boys, leave Claire alone." Ah, Uhura, my hero. Thank goodness she's interceded on my behalf.

Although, before I can thank her for rescuing me, the alarm on her PADD starts to beep reminding Nyota of her impending meeting with Commander Spock.

"I'm afraid I've got to run," she apologetically says with a smile as she gracefully gets up from her chair to start gathering her things.

I smile back at her as I chirpily respond, "No worries. Now go, you don't want to keep Mr. Tall, Dark and Prickly waiting." Speaking of unpleasant people, my eyes dare to glance over Jim's shoulder again. And sure enough, Not-Peter is still standing by the metal beam tauntingly grinning at me. The sight of that villainous smile on such a heroic face seems totally wrong and it makes me shudder with revulsion.

However, my mood lightens a bit when the utterance of Commander Spock's new moniker elicits three very different yet amusing reactions – Uhura breaks out into a fit of giggles, Dr. McCoy scowls as he lifts a disapproving eyebrow and Kirk laughs so hard he manages to squirt the last sip of his raspberry iced tea right out of his left nostril.

Deliberately ignoring my previous directive to call me by my proper name and rank, Jim teasingly addresses me, "Oh, you're funny, Texas." With tea dribbling down his face he adds with a breathless laugh, "Don't let that Vulcan hear you call him that or you'll get saddled with another report."

Uhura looks at Kirk with disgust as she slowly shakes her head. "Gross," she murmurs.

McCoy quickly hands Kirk a napkin and tells him to wipe his nose. "Get it together, space cadet. You're scaring the ladies."

"Well this 'lady' is out of here," Uhura briskly announces as she walks around our table to daintily discard the remnants of her lunch tray into the nearest auto-recycler. She then waves at me and says, "I'll message you on your PADD once I'm done with the commander. We need to get started on that dissertation if you're going to make a good impression in his class tomorrow."

As the confident linguistics major starts to walk away I shout back at her, "I think it's too late for that!"

Nyota only smiles in response as she gracefully moves forward to make her way through the now thinning crowds until she reaches the mess hall exit. The second she's out of my line of sight I turn to the male cadets and say, "Gentlemen, thank you for lunch. Once I hear from Uhura I let you know when and where we're meeting tonight, okay."

I make a hasty about-face damned near determined to march myself right over to the Man of a Thousand Faces . However, before I can take the first step Dr. McCoy gently places a hand on my upper arm prompting me turn around.

"Claire would you like us to accompany you?" he kindly offers. "Why if we were back in Mississippi, it would be considered downright ungentlemanly of me to allow you to go unescorted."

I can't help but smile at McCoy. My mom, if she were still living, would've found the country doctor to be utterly charming. But then again Sandra Bennet, who was a huge _Gone with the Wind_ fan, had always been a sucker for impeccable manners and men that were born and bred below the Mason Dixie.

Southern gentility notwithstanding though, I find myself declining Leonard's well-meaning proposal. It's not that I'm not tempted to remain in his company. I just have more pressing matters to attend to…like kicking Gabriel in the nuts.

"No, that's okay. I'll be fine. You two go on and explore the campus. I'm sure there's still lots to see and plenty of vulnerable women for Kirk to defile. Besides, I doubt you two want to spend the rest of afternoon knee deep in Jimmy Choo's."

"You got that right," Jim affirms good-naturedly. He then slaps a friendly hand on Leonard's shoulder and proclaims, "C'mon, Bones, the drinks aren't getting any colder and the girls aren't getting any warmer."

Shrugging away from Kirk's grasp, Dr. McCoy grouses at his perpetually amorous pal, "Alright, alright! Down boy before I have to hose you! Jesus, you'd think you've never seen the female form before. You do realize of course that there's not a drop of liquor to be found at this academy."

As Kirk starts to steer his friend away, he informs him, "That's why I brought a contraband disc, the encoding of my own design of course. And it'll temporarily override the basic programming of _any_ replicator on campus to reproduce the finest synthetic alcoholic beverages for your imbibing pleasure! C'mon, live a little Bones. Didn't you see that Orian hottie when we first docked?"

"Yeah, yeah, I saw. Tall redhead with legs that go on forever and the greenest skin this side of the Andromeda system, right?" McCoy wistfully recalls as he slowly follows Kirk with reluctant steps.

With a lecherous smile, Kirk sing-songs, "She's got a friend…"

Leonard appears to think about the proposition for about all of two seconds before he rolls his eyes and then sighs with feigned aggravation, "Why I let you talk me into these things, I'll never know."

Kirk is practically beaming, the smug bastard. He's surely basking in the triumph at having convinced the pragmatic doctor to see things his way.

Poor Leonard, I feel sorry for him. I just pray that he'll never have to serve under that horn-dog Kirk, or he'll have a full time job on his hands keeping that farm boy out of trouble.

"See you later, Claire-Bear," Dr. McCoy warmly says to me.

Touched by his use of my old pet name, I bid him a fond farewell.

As for Kirk, his good-bye leaves much to be desired. "Later, Texas," Jim says with a salacious wink.

Jutting out my stubborn little chin I haughtily retort, "_Never_, Iowa."

Jim just laughs at me as he drags the hapless McCoy to face an afternoon of drinking and interplanetary debauchery.

lllll

Now that McCoy and Kirk have left me alone, it's time to get down to the business of getting rid of Gabriel before he can cause any trouble for me.

After depositing my own trash into the auto-recycler, I square my shoulders as I turn a bellicose gaze toward the bane of my eternal existence, Gabriel Pain-In-My-Ass Gray. There he is …my former enemy turned ex-part-time lover. He watches me now with blatant delight as I angrily I stride right up to him. His Cheshire cat smile infuriates me and it takes all of my will power not to punch him in the face.

At last, I find myself standing in front of Gabriel ready to give him hell. "Okay, you…outside, NOW!" I hiss between gritted teeth.

The cocksure grin never leaves the disturbing facsimile of Peter's face as Gabriel deliberately replies in his own raspy voice, "Whatever you say, Claire-Bear."

Hearing that familiar homicidal timbre emanate from the mouth of a relative that's been dead and buried for so many decades makes my skin crawl. But then again _everything_ that Gabriel had done lately has had the same adverse affect on me.

Let's face it, the guy is a _creep_…always has been, always will be.

lllll

During the years of my bygone youth, Gabriel was known to me by another name, a name that became synonymous with pain and death - _Sylar._

I can still remember how just hearing that terrible pseudonym being uttered aloud had caused me to tremble with fear. Sylar was the stuff that nightmares were made of - a murderous boogeyman with no redeeming qualities. He was cunning, predatory and ruthless. And anyone that had the misfortune to encounter him soon learned that stalking was in his blood. The need to hunt and track down prey had been hardwired into the encoding of his DNA. And I got all that, really I did, once I familiarized myself with the man behind the infamous killer.

And as the years passed and the further I got to know him, really and truly know him, I eventually realized that having intuitive aptitude was akin to being an alcoholic or a junkie. The voracious need to have more, to know more was like a narcotic to someone like Sylar (and it probably still is). After decades seeing him struggle daily to keep what he calls the Hunger at bay, I've pretty much concluded that I.A. is more of curse than a gift.

Yet, despite this affliction, Gabriel persevered and has managed stay on the wagon for a very long time. Quite the remarkable feat, if you ask me. It's highly commendable. Not a single kill since 2010- an outstanding achievement someone that used to revel and excel in the act of murder.

lllll

But with all redemptive accomplishments aside, what I still can't abide by is this constant need to shadow me by lurking around corners or waiting unseen at the end of a dark alley or even hovering outside a second story bedroom window for an illicit peek.

Even when I've implicitly asked him in the past to leave me alone for a few years so I can cool off from whatever our latest quarrel was, Sylar would clandestinely keep a vigilant eye on me. I suppose it was for his perverse amusement – a pathetic attempt to keep the boredom and loneliness of immortality from swallowing him whole.

Of course when I finally caught on to what he was doing, Sylar quickly professed his innocence, claiming he only did what he did because he wanted to protect me, save me from the big bad world. God, if I have a Federation credit for every time I've heard that same old line, I'd be richer than the blue-skinned bat people that mine for dilithium crystals on the moons of Cronus VII.

Doesn't Gabriel see that I'm no longer that naïve little cheerleader that needs a hero to rescue her at every turn? I've grown up considerably in the last 247 years. And I'm more than capable of rescuing myself, thank you very much.

Besides, I learned a long time ago that the only way I'm going to survive the long stretch into eternity is to not live in the past like Gabriel does. The past only ties you down, makes you weak and keeps you hostage to memories best forgotten. And sadly for me, Gabriel Gray is very much a part of a departed era that I rather not recall. He remains the only living remainder of a life I no longer have.

I look to the future now and the opportunity to start anew on some distant planet many light years from Earth. For that reason alone I need to scrape the past off the bottom of my shoe like the annoying sticky residue of chewing gum.

lllll

Once Gabriel and I are safely outside and away from anyone that might overhear our conversation, I whirl around to confront the bastard.

Placing my hands on my curvaceous hips I strike a haughty pose to show him I mean serious business. "I don't know what you think you're doing, or who you think you are, but you need to take the first shuttle ride out of here before I call Starfleet Security."

Unfazed by my palpable ire Gabriel decides to flash me Peter Petrelli's singature crooked grin in lieu of a reply.

Seeing that sweet expression again, after so many years of being deprived of it, further fans the flames of my rage. And I want nothing more than to knock Gabriel's teeth out in an attempt to mar the unwholesome image he dares to project before my eyes. I don't want to call undue attention to myself though, so I decide to keep my anger contained and concentrated on the man currently towering over me.

"How dare you come here wearing my uncle's face?" I viciously growl at him.

Gabriel annoyingly replies with a question of his own, "Why Claire is that any way to greet an old friend?"

That does it. The mocking tone in his voice manages to push all the wrong buttons. And I'm suddenly compelled to shove him hard in the chest to show my displeasure.

"First of all, asshole, you and I aren't friends! And secondly, you've got about five seconds to shift back into your own ugly self or so help me God, I'll grab a hand phaser from the first officer I see and _disintegrate_ you out of existence. By the way, there's _no_ coming back from that, even for regens like us."

"Oh, Claire," Gabriel begins to chide me as if I were a small child. "I know you don't want to ruin your chances at becoming a Starfleet automaton, so I'll interpret that whole hand phaser thing as an empty threat. As for the masquerade, I'm sorry if you're offended. Silly me, I just figured you'd be less _hostile_ if I presented myself in a more agreeable form. But fine, if you want me to shift back, your wish is my command."

When I realize what he's about to do right here in the open, I quickly grab Gabriel by the wrists and yell, "Wait! Not here. There's about a two dozen aerial security drones that patrol this area alone. The last thing I need is to have an image of you morphing on the Federation News Network. It would be 2010 all over again."

"You only have yourself to blame for that one, doll-face. No one told you to jump off that Ferris wheel and out all specials," Gabriel wryly reminds me.

Then before I can I object he grabs my hand and starts dragging me toward a thicket of trees and brush that comprise part of the preserved land that Starfleet Academy designated to keep in its natural state when they broke ground here some 92 years ago. There's only one problem- since the 4-acre forested area is off limits to students, it's protected by a powerful yet unseen force field.

"Come on, I see a nice shady spot over there where we can get some privacy," Gabriel abruptly announces as he continues to haul my unwillingly body forward. I desperately look around for a fellow cadet to help me. But surprisingly there isn't a soul in sight. How strange…

"Gabriel Jonathan Gray, let me go!" I demand of him as I try to wriggle out of his ironclad grasp.

The cretin, still looking like Peter, only laughs at me as he ignores my command. "Wow, using my full Christian name, Claire? You must really be mad at me."

"You don't understand. Listen to me, you moron! The woods are protected by a force field. I read it in the introduction manual. If we try to trespass we'll be fried!"

Gabriel just smiles at me over his shoulder and says, "Ah, ye of little faith."

I'm forced to watch with incredulous anger as he stretches out his left hand. Gabriel then calmly sends a quick burst of electrical energy toward the invisible barrier effectively short circuiting it. Then before I know it we enter the woods where we are immediately concealed from the air-borne spherical drones that police and monitor the academy grounds by the dense arboreal canopy blotting out the sky.

Blessedly Gabriel drops my hand as he sighs, "Ah, alone at last." But as he turns around to face me I greet him with a nasty little surprise when my fist makes direct contact with his nose.

The minute I hear the bone crunching sound I smile with a great degree of satisfaction. And as blood gushes forth from his nostrils, Gabriel bends over to cup a hand around the injury in an attempt to stave the flow before it stains the front of his uniform. I almost laugh as he indignantly howls, "Ow, Claire, you broke it, you broke my nose!"

Smirking like the she-devil he probably thinks I am, I snap, "Get over yourself, you'll heal in a minute! Besides you deserved that!"

"I know I'll heal, that's not the point! In case you've forgotten, Blondie…one of us still feels PAIN!" Gabriel yells back in anger as he's still doubled over in agony.

It doesn't take long however for the ability he stole from me to start mending the damage I've done. Once his nose is reset and the bloody geyser has ceased, Gabriel quickly straightens his posture while the features on his face begin to wobbly rearrange themselves. I gasp the moment Peter's characteristics ebb away. And surprisingly I'm momentarily stricken by sorrow. This feeling though soon passes when I remember that Peter's visage is only an illusion conjured up by the sick demented man presently quivering in the throes of metamorphosis.

Although to me if feels like a life time, the entire shape shifting process is over in less than a minute . And to my bitter disappointment Gabriel Gray is back looking like his old self. At least he doesn't look like my uncle anymore.

Smug as ever, he has the nerve to ask me, "Better?"

I just roll my eyes heavenward begging God to give me the strength to deal with this adult sized infant. I then cast what I hope is a steely scowl in his direction as I proclaim, "I meant what I said earlier, Gabe. What's done is done. I'm a Starfleet cadet. And I'm bound and determined to work harder than anybody else in my class so that in a few years I'm hopefully assigned to the Federation's new flagship, the Enterprise. So you can't be here. Now please go away before you get me in trouble."

The moment Gabriel hears me say that, I see all the mirth die within his dark gaze. "You're mind's made up then, huh? I guess you do prefer being stuffed into a tin can jettisoning through space rather than stay on earth with me."

I sigh heavily as I turn my back to him, unwilling to see the sadness that's welled up in his eyes. "I don't know how else to explain it to you, Gabriel. Besides I said everything I had to say last night. I'm sorry, but I have to do this."

Next, I suddenly feel the warmth of two strong hands being gently laid upon my shoulders. I'm then slowly whirled around to face the man that's been my only constant for nearly three centuries. I hold my breath as Gabriel's sorrowful eyes bore into mine. "I won't lose you, Claire," he vows with burning resolve. "Not now, not after all we've been through."

I'm touched by his ardent promise but it's not enough to swing the pendulum in the other direction.

"Please, Gabriel" I whisper, pleading with him to listen to reason just this once. "Please let me go."

His voice breaks then as he tries to choke back a sob, "I-I can't. Don't you know that by now?"

I can feel my own eyes fill up with unshed tears as they desperately search his face… but for _what_ exactly? I don't rightly know. Answers perhaps to the most burning questions that my heart is afraid to ask of him. Therefore I remain perfectly still hoping my silence will communicate what my voice cannot.

It's funny. Gabriel refuses to accept my non-verbal answer. And yet he responds to me in kind. I inhale deeply when he ever so tenderly cups my face with both hands. My heart begins to race wildly with anticipation as he slowly leans in until our mouths are almost touching. Involuntarily my eyes close and I tremble all over with apprehensive exhilaration.

And that's when I experience an unexpected epiphany that tells me that if he kisses me now my career as an officer of Starfleet will be over before it's even begun.

Suddenly from somewhere deep inside me an alarm goes off, alerting me that I'm about cross into the danger zone. And I should heed its warning. I need stop this before Gabriel ruins my plans. But right now, being this close to him, I can't seem to find the fortitude to try. Conflicting emotions rage inside me as I simultaneously dread and want his kiss.

"Gabriel. Why do you always do this to me?" I ask him breathlessly.

"Because I can…" his deep mesmerizing voice arrogantly responds.

I feel like I just got slapped in the face. I'm so taken aback that my eyes open as wide as they can go. "W-what did you say?"

Gabriel's words conceit instantaneously extinguishes any feelings of longing on my part. As a matter of fact they're quickly replaced by bitterness and regret. How could I have allowed myself to get roped in like this again?

Pushing him as far away from me as I can I lash out at Gabriel with all the hate I can muster, "What the hell do you think this is…a game? You think that you can just show up from God knows where and I would just what...fall into your arms? Think again, asshole! This is my life, you're messing with. _MY_ life, do you hear me? And I decided a long time ago that I no longer want you in it!"

As I start to move away from him, Gabriel tries to call me back. "Claire, wait. Don't leave."

"Go to hell!" I yell over my shoulder. "And don't you dare use that creepy puppet ability to keep me here or so help me…"

But just as I'm about to march out of the woods, all of a sudden we both hear the unmistakable crackling sound of brushwood and twigs breaking beneath the footfalls of a pair heavy boots. It's a sure sign that Gabriel and I are no longer alone.

Sure enough my suspicions are soon confirmed when another male voice barks out in an authoritative tone, "You there, halt. You are in strict violation of Starfleet mandate 622431."

Great, just what I need…to be arrested by the academy police for trespassing. And all on my first day. _Way to go, Gabriel!_ Thanks to him, it looks like I can kiss the Enterprise good-bye.

But just when I think I'll never see the inside of a starship, leave it to Gabriel to actually save my fledging interstellar career. Before I can even fathom what's happening the cocky bastard speeds up to me in blinding blur of movement. And then in the next instant as I feel his arms come up around me I'm quickly overwhelmed by the unwelcomed feeling of disorientation accompanied by a rush of stomach-turning nausea. That's when I realize that Gabriel has just teleported us out of the woods to parts unknown.

lllll

God, I hate teleportation…in any form. The motion sickness followed by the momentary loss of equilibrium downright sucks. Yeah, I know I'll get it over it in a minute or two. But as the so-called "indestructible girl" I still find it irritating as hell that I'm subjected to these strange side effects in the first place. Let's just hope I can endure using the transporter system on whatever starship I'm assigned to.

Meantime, as the world around me gradually comes into focus, our destination slowly reveals itself. It appears that Gabriel and I have abruptly materialized behind the cover of 12-foot high ficus hedges near the one of the dormitory quads.

Thankfully, my queasiness is subsiding as I feel a little flare of gratitude toward Gabriel. I have to admit that he at least had the foresight transport us to this area sight unseen. However, my appreciation for his discretion is short-lived when I realize that our arms are still entangled around on another.

I quickly disengaged myself from Gabriel by giving him a good hard shove. "Get off me, you jerk!" I demand with an indignant cry.

"Now, Claire I would expect a little more thanks from you considering I just saved your butt back there."

"Oh, yeah? Well maybe my butt wouldn't have needed saving if you hadn't decided to trespass in the first place! And speaking of being where you're not supposed to, you need to _leave_, Gabriel, right now!"

But instead of doing as I bade him, the arrogant son-of-a-bitch stands his ground and says with an impish grin, "I don't think so, Cheerleader. See, here's the thing…since you were so gung-ho about all this Starfleet crap, I've decided to see for myself what the big deal is."

"Y-you didn't…" My voice is quaking now as my mind and heart start to wrestle with what I know will be a terrible truth.

Meanwhile, Gabriel's smile grows wider as his features start to alter themselves again before my very eyes. The nausea returns as I fearfully watch him change his appearance. The whole time I'm praying that he won't end up looking like another dead relative. Soon enough the transmutation is complete and I feel an eerie sense of dread spread through me as I gawk at the end result.

The eyes staring back at me are a startling shade of blue, cobalt to be precise. And the brows that adorn those bright orbs are sparse and neat, so unlike the bushy caterpillars that lord over Gabriel's countenance. The neatly combed hair on top of his head is about two shades lighter than what I'm used to seeing on him. And the complexion on his face has gone from milky white to a ruddy tan. The mouth appears to have fuller lips and the jaw line is square and more masculine looking. His nose is smaller too.

He has even managed to compress his impressive height, making his frame appear shorter and stockier.

As I continue to stare in astonishment, I can't get over how dissimilar Gabriel really looks from his usual manifestation. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear to God that I'm looking at a perfect stranger.

"Oh, but I did, baby-doll," he answers me. Next, in an unfamiliar voice that's no less egotistical than his own, Gabriel proudly proclaims, "Say hello to first-year cadet, Gary Mitchell."

"Nuh uh, there's no way! You can't do this! It's impossible." I furiously refute as I fight the urge to vomit all over myself.

'Gary' just shrugs his shoulders as he casually explains, "Claire, you should know by now that _nothing_ is 'impossible' when it comes to me. When you first told me of your plans, I'll admit I was distressed, for lack of a better term. But then I got to thinking. How I could _rectify_ the situation? And that's when it hit me, like a thunderbolt."

Grimacing with disdain, I choke on my own bile as I solicit him for an answer, "_What_ hit you? And why didn't it kill you?"

Gabriel dares to touch the tip of my nose with his index finger as he responds in a condescending tone, "You're so cute when you're confused."

I slap his hand away as I growl, "Just answer the question, dickhead!"

The disguised man sighs heavily. It seems that complying with my request is going to be such a big chore. Just seconds later however, he finally relents as he coolly replies, "Fine, have it your way. Since you're so determined to go through with this idiocy I've decided to _join_ you on your misadventure."

"So you mean tell me you've actually enlisted in Starfleet? Oh my God, now I know you're insane! And you're going to pull this off how? By spending the next four years posing as somebody else?

What happened to the real Gary Mitchell or do I even want to know?" I nearly exclaim at the top of my lungs. I try like hell to retain some decorum as I make a conscious effort to keep my voice down. At this time of day the quad is probably crawling with cadets that might be within earshot of the hedges.

But I can't seem to stop my head from spinning as I try to digest Gabriel's latest hare-brained scheme. And at this point I'm beyond exasperated.

"Relax," he tells me like none of this is a big deal. "The real Gary Mitchell died of a poisoned dart when he was stationed many light years from here on the planet Dimorus. It seems that he and his family were ambushed by the indigenous population."

"God, you're stupid! If you think the Federation database doesn't have a record of that incident, then you're wrong, Gabriel. Someone is liable to look up the file and then you'll be busted."

"I don't think so, sweetheart. You forget that you and I knew a technopath way back when. And thanks to Micah Saunders' power I can edit, omit or completely delete anyone's records at my discretion."

"Then why not change your own? Why steal the identity of some poor dead man?"

Gabriel falters as I watch him struggle to come up with a witty answer. And then it dawns on me. "You can't, can you?" I self-righteouslyquestion him. With morbid laughter I add, "You're unable to hack into your own files, right?" I clap my hands gleefully as I delight over his apparent limitations. "Oh, this is better than Christmas!" I joyfully declare.

"Shut up, Claire! Fine, okay I'll admit there might be _some _restrictions with Micah's ability. Evidently it's a bit of a challenge adapting a 21st century mindset to 23rd century technology-but it's not impossible. I'm still working out the kinks, that's all.'

I just smile, happy in the knowledge that something has finally flummoxed the Great Gabriel Gray. "That's a load of crap! You've had 247 years to '_work out the kinks'_, or so you say. That's not it. You can't get around their encryptions. Your file must be so top secret that the Federation has sealed its contents at the highest of security levels."

"Okay, Miss Smarty Pants, you got me. Alright, I may have more than one reason to go off planet since I'm still a wanted criminal after all this time. But before you even think about blabbing to Admiral Komack or anyone else at Starfleet Command, know this: if they have a file on me then someone high up knows about the existence of specials. So if you turn me in then you run the risk of outing yourself."

"I don't think s…"I suddenly halt in mid-sentence when I start to think about the true implications of his words.

_Shit, he's right. If I__ blow the whistle on Gabe, he'll make good on his implied threat of exposing me._

I've been backed into a corner between a rock and hard place and that's precisely where Gabriel wants me. Damn him!

Gabriel smoothly drawls, "What's it going to be, Claire? Are you going to play nice or have us both court marshaled?"

"You bastard. You planned this from the beginning, didn't you?" I grouse. But my question hits a wall of stony silence.

Fueled by impotent rage I continue, "Fine, you want to be here at the Academy? Then there are ground rules. And I swear to Christ, _Sylar_ that if you don't follow them to the letter, I'll go straight to Komack- consequences be damned!"

After a beat Gabriel finally responds, "Name your terms."

"You only speak to me when I initiate the conversation. You're to stay clear of my friends. Under no circumstances are you to come near the vicinity of my dorm room, classes or any other space I might occupy without my consent. There will be no stalking, tailing or shadowing of any kind. And if I even get a hint of you've been spying me then this little deal is off. Oh and one more thing- no using your powers unless it's to keep up your disguise."

Gabriel, still wearing his 'Gary' suit, crosses his arms in front of his uncharacteristically broad chest as he contemplates the stipulations I've just laid out before him.

Anxiously I wait for either his acceptance or refusal. A few moments later I get my answer.

"You drive a hard bargain, Claire. But I accept your provisos on _one_ condition…"

My eyes narrow as I brace myself for the worst. "And that would be…?"

"That you don't date _anyone_ until after graduation. Once you've earned your stripes you can do whatever you want."

At first I just stare blankly at him hardly believing what my ears have just heard. But as the constraints of his so-called decree start to sink in, my blood reaches its boiling point. And that's when I explode. "You have some nerve! This isn't the Middle Ages and I don't belong to you. I can date whoever I want, when I want and you can't stop me! Deal's off. I'll go to the Admiral in the morning."

Not wanting to stomach another second in Gabriel's presence I quickly whirl around and start walking away. I want nothing more right now than to put as much distance between me and the asshole that's determined to make the rest of my eternity a living hell.

"Alright, Claire you can dip those dainty little toes of yours into the dating pool," Gabriel glumly concedes. His acquiescence nearly stops me in my tracks. I slow my gait down but I don't turn back. Meanwhile my frazzled brain begins to process and mull over all that's happened today. And that's when I slowly realize that Gabriel is in a much worse predicament than me.

I guess he really _is_ afraid of getting arrested.

There'd be no Company cell waiting for him this time. If Gabriel is apprehended, he would immediately be remanded to the penile colony on the desert planetoid of Zolax Alpha, where water is scarce and the labor is hard. The arid conditions on that world are near-toxic and hellishly brutal. Now that I think about it I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, not even an insufferable degenerate like Gabriel.

On the other hand leave it to his big mouth to change my mind about Zolax Alpha when he foolishly adds, "Just no Vulcans or Orions, alright? Deltans, El-Aurians and even Capellans are okay...I guess. Just no green-blooded people, okay Claire?"

Now that I'm thoroughly disgusted and pissed off, I start walking again only this time at a much faster pace and with more purpose. As I reach the end of the hedges I yell back at him, "I was wrong before…you're not just an asshole, you're a bigot too."

"See you later, Claire…" he says almost pleasantly.

"Up yours, 'Gary,' I fire back as I give him the one-finger salute, knowing full well that I've just struck a deal with the Devil himself.

But there's no time to think about that now, not when I've got some serious unpacking to do. Not to mention that dreadful assignment I still have to write tonight so I can turn into Commander Spock first thing tomorrow. And following that I have a full day of classes to look forward to.

Yes, there are other things that take precedence- none of which involve Gabriel Gray. And I thank my lucky stars for that.

Despite being caught up in my own thoughts, it doesn't take me long at all to reach my dorm room. In fact, when I take the time to survey my surroundings, I discover that my living quarters are actually positioned not too far from where Gabriel had teleported us earlier.

This unpleasant finding can only mean one thing – Gabriel not only knows where my dormitory is, he probably has a good idea what my class schedule is too. Let's just hope he doesn't decide to make an appearance in Commander Spock's class. Dealing with one pretentious ass is bad enough. But I don't think I can handle two of them at the same time.

_TBC…_

A/N: Okay, my darlings. Here at long last is chapter five with lots of Claire/Gabriel in this one. And what a shocker, Gabriel is going to attend Starfleet Academy! This can only mean trouble. Mark my words.

Now for you old school Trekkers, some of you may recognize the name Gary Mitchell. He was the helmsman in the ST-TOS episode "Where No Man Has Gone Before". Poor Gary got zapped by some mysterious energy and then developed psychic powers like telekinesis, telepathy and shot lightening from his fingers tips. Sounds like someone else we know, right?

Anyway, what poor Gabriel doesn't know is that Gary is actually an old friend of Jim Kirk's. And yes, they will run into each other and Kirk will try to bring him into his social circle which now consists of Bones, Nyota and Claire. Things will get interesting.

Next chapter will finally deal with the Spock/Claire classroom showdown I promised.


End file.
